


Five Times Jazz Totally Missed Prowl Going Out Of His Way To Spend Time With Him (And One Time Prowl Didn’t Let Him)

by Rizobact



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: 5+1 Things, Background Canon Characters - Freeform, He doesn't realize he's basically already in one, He's so busy thinking he needs to change for a relationship to work, Jazz needs to get a clue, M/M, Opposites Attract
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 21:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11815014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/pseuds/Rizobact
Summary: Jazz is sure that calm, dedicated, introverted Prowl couldn’t possibly like someone as off-the-cuff, loud, and extroverted as him. That didn’t stop him from falling in love though, and that love made him blind to all the ways Prowl has been finding for them to spend time together without compromising who either of them are… until Prowl finds a way that clears up any possible doubt.





	Five Times Jazz Totally Missed Prowl Going Out Of His Way To Spend Time With Him (And One Time Prowl Didn’t Let Him)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Menial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menial/gifts).



> First time trying the 5+1 structure. It wound up being longer than I meant for it to be, but I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me :p Thank you Menial for your prompt, and shoutout to you and 12drakon for your help in finding a solution to the issues dragonofdispair and I were having with mobile viewing of our toy stories. Thank you so much! We and our readers are grateful!

The only thing wrong with partying into the wee hours of the morning was waking up in the wee-er hours of the same morning to clean up after said party. It was one of the stipulations for Jazz's shindigs that everything be put to rights by the beginning of the morning shift though, and while that wasn't the easiest of tasks after a night of loud music, potent highgrade, and energetic dancing, Jazz considered it worth it.

"How do you still have any energy left, mech?" Blaster asked from his position on the couch. Jazz’s erstwhile helper had gone over there several minutes ago, ostensibly to check under the cushions for garbage, and hadn’t gotten back up. "The way you were dancin', I figured you'd still be sacked out in the corner well past sunrise."

"Can't do that if I wanna throw another party. It’s my mess, so I gotta clean it up," Jazz said with a good-natured chuckle. "I can finish cleaning it up on my own, if your berth is callin'."

"'M not tired," Blaster denied, optics flickering with exhaustion. "I didn't party as hard as you and you're not tired, so I must not be."

"Even if it looks like you're about to fall over any second now?" Jazz tied off another bag of trash before joining his friend. "Look, I'll be fine. Go ahead back to bed."

"…If you're sure," Blaster said reluctantly, but he allowed Jazz to pull him up off the couch. "Hey. You sure you're okay?"

Jazz gave Blaster a reassuring pat on the back. "Totally okay," he said, following him until he made it out the door. "See you in the morning."

"Later in the morning," echoed back down the hall with a sleepy backhanded wave.

Jazz laughed, waiting for Blaster to move out of sight before turning to face the mess in the rec room with a sigh. "I'm okay," he said quietly to himself, picking up another bag.

Blaster was right that he'd partied hard. He'd really,  _ really  _ been hoping that maybe this time… but no. Prowl hadn't showed. Jazz had been sure to drop plenty of hints that he’d like to see him there leading up to it, even going so far as to explicitly invite the mech and offer to help with any work that needed to be done so Prowl could come, but it was hopeless. Prowl just didn't like parties.

So Jazz had partied to forget.

Now he tried to shove his melancholy thoughts down along with the straggling streamers he stuffed into the trash. Hiding behind chores wasn’t any better than hiding behind loud music and copious amounts of highgrade, but what else could he do? Reasoning with his feelings didn't work. He'd tried. All thinking about Prowl ever did was make him like the mech more… and make him even more sure his crush was hopeless.

How could a mech who didn’t like parties like a mech who did?

"—azz? Jazz? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I already told you I’m—" Jazz finally registered the voice calling his name through his depressed fog and turned, only to find "—Prowl!"

"Actually, I believe you’re Jazz," Prowl said with a hint of a teasing smile. "Are you so tired you don’t remember your own name? You certainly didn’t hear me calling you."

Well that was embarrassing. "Just lost in thought, that’s all. It is pretty late you know," Jazz said, taking refuge behind the exhaustion he was finally beginning to feel. "I’ve still got time though. Can’t bust me for leavin’ a mess yet."

"That isn’t why I‘m here." Prowl walked over to the couch and, one by one, began turning the cushions and fishing trash out from between the cracks. "I just happened to wake early and thought you could use a hand. Looks like it was quite a time."

"Yeah," Jazz said, coming over to hold the bag for Prowl. They settled into a rhythm together, working their way around the rest of the room. "It was."

_ I just wish it had been time with you. _

.

.

.

Whenever anyone asked, Jazz insisted his habit of bringing energon to Prowl in his office was just him making sure the mech didn’t work straight through his shifts and forget to take his rations. Perfectly plausible, since Prowl was guilty of just that on more than one occasion. It drove Ratchet to distraction, but Jazz actually found it kind of endearing; just one of the many ways Prowl’s dedication showed itself, and that dedication was one of the things Jazz liked so much about him. He never mentioned how he enjoyed hanging around to pester Prowl to actually consume what he brought him, using the time to distract him from while simultaneously admiring the work he did so well.

He was too tired to play his usual games today, however. After his morning shift, Jazz had used most of his lunch break to take a power nap to combat the fatigue brought on by his short night, leaving himself just enough time to swing by the commissary and bolt his ration before he was due back at his station.

When he arrived, he was greeted by the unusual sight of Prowl sitting there sharing a table with two of his subordinates.

"Hey! What brings you out of hiding today?" Even when Prowl did remember to fuel on his own, he didn’t tend to stay in the busy, crowded commissary at the height of lunch hour. "Anything I should know about?"

"Nothing in particular," was Prowl’s answer, though Mirage and Bumblebee shared a significant look. What was that about? Jazz would have to corner them later. "I noticed you didn’t stop by my office today. Is there anything  _ I  _ should know about?"

"Just that I was tired enough to prioritize rest over fuel after this morning," Jazz said as he sat down in the empty seat beside Prowl with his cube. "You got more recharge than I did last night!"

"Oh? You were together last night?"

Mirage’s voice carried a subtle scandalous lilt that Jazz Did Not Appreciate, given how much he would have liked to have spent the night with Prowl. "We ran into each other this morning while I was cleaning," he corrected him with a warning flicker of his visor. He might as well have been glaring at a wall for all the effect it had on Mirage, though Bumblebee noticed and giggled. "Watch it, Bee. I didn’t see you sticking around to help!"

"Blaster and Sideswipe were still there when I left," he protested.

"Sideswipe skedaddled right after you did and Blaster fell asleep on me," Jazz complained. "Prowl wound up being the most help, and he didn’t even come to the party!"

"You helped clean?" Mirage gave Prowl an appraising look over the top of his cube. "Interesting."

"It’s called havin’ a work ethic," Jazz said before Prowl could ask what was so interesting about it. Sometimes it was a real pain having friends and subordinates who worked in intelligence! It would be so much easier to keep from burdening Prowl with his pointless feelings if they didn’t know about them and weren’t so keen on bringing them up. Thank Primus for small blessings, he supposed. Prowl wasn’t the social butterfly Jazz was, and was consequently out of the loop on a lot of gossip. Too bad that lack of interest in group socializing was yet another way they were incompatible, despite that work ethic of his being so attractive. "You mechs could learn a thing or two from him."

"So could you," Prowl said, his face perfectly stoic. "Punctuality, for one. Aside from missing you at your usual time at my door, your reports could stand to be on time a little more often." The teasing edge to his EM field told Jazz he wasn’t really being taken to task over his occasional — alright, frequent — delays; not this time, at any rate. For all that Prowl was a stickler for that kind of thing, he was also eminently practical. Jazz’s reports were often delayed due to his operatives coming back with injuries and not being able to debrief right away. Totally understandable! Ironhide’s were late because the old warhound didn’t like doing inventory and tended to put it off until someone had punishment detail coming. Much less excusable.

"Sure, sure," Jazz said with a good-natured elbow to Prowl’s arm. "Promise I’ll do my very best for you next time."

"I’m sure you will."

"I’m sure he will too."

"Don’t you have somewhere to be, Mirage?" Jazz managed to not-quite snap. "I thought your break was almost over?"

"So is yours," Mirage pointed out, but he stood from the table anyway. "Enjoy the rest of your lunch. Bumblebee and I were just leaving."

Mischief in his optics, Bumblebee got up too with a cheerful "Goodbye!", leaving Jazz alone with Prowl.

"What was that about?"

"No idea," Jazz lied smoothly. "Anyway, I probably should get goin’ too. Wouldn’t want my reports to be late now, would I?" Nor did he want Prowl to force himself to stay in the commissary for his sake. He knew the prolonged jumble of sound in the room would grate on his nerve-circuits. "See you later!"

He was ambushed by Mirage and Bumblebee in the hall as soon as he stepped outside.

"Come on, we set that up for you perfectly!" Bumblebee whined, looking at Jazz like he couldn’t believe how stupid he was being. "All you had to do was stay there!"

"What, so Prowl could leave in another couple of minutes? He doesn’t like eating lunch with me here! I’ve asked him before." Dozens of times, in fact. Prowl’s repeated refusals were the  _ other  _ reason Jazz had started bringing him cubes in his office, as an excuse to spend a little time with him. Too bad Prowl tended to chase him out before lunch was even halfway over. "Maybe he just doesn’t like eating with me, period." He was too loud, too energetic, too outgoing… A competent teammate, but no more than that.

"Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself," Mirage chastised. "He seeks you out far more often than he does any other mech on the base. Why would he do that if he didn’t enjoy your company?"

"Maybe cuz I  _ work  _ with him closer than anyone else on the base." Jazz huffed, then forced himself to draw in cooler air and calm down. "Look, I appreciate you tryin’ to cheer me up, but I am who I am and I can’t change that." He just wasn’t the kind of mech someone like Prowl would ever find interesting as a friend, let alone as more than a friend. And he respected both Prowl and himself too much to lie about who he was just to try and make a relationship work, no matter how much he was pining for one. That would only lead to disaster in the long run. Better to suffer now and wait for the feelings to fade. Which they would. Eventually. They had to. "I’ll be fine."

"I’ve never known you to be so stubbornly set against something you wanted so much."

"I’m just bein’ reasonable, ‘Raj." He didn’t often fall back on logic and reason, preferring to trust his intuition and act on instinct, but he was capable of it. "There’s no point upsetting the status quo for something that won’t work out."

"You can’t know for sure it wouldn’t work," Bumblebee started to argue, but Jazz cut him off.

"I know for sure he doesn’t like short flings, and that’s all he’d want to put up with me for." And Jazz wanted more than that. Primus help him, he wanted more than that. "Look, I really do need to get back to work. Just stay out of my non-existent love life, okay?"

This time neither mech said anything as he walked away to bury himself, and his uncooperative feelings, in reports.

.

.

.

Several hours later, Jazz was convinced he’d found yet another reason he needed to hurry up and get over Prowl. "Stupid reports," he grumbled, fidgeting behind his desk. He’d really wanted to get this batch done promptly to impress him, but he was itching to get up and move! Sitting still wasn’t what he was built for. He was physical, Prowl was cerebral; oil and water. He couldn’t do it. 

"That’s it, I give up." He tossed the datapad he’d been working on down and was about to do a circuit of the base to check on morale and the rumor mill when a visitor appeared in his doorway. "Oh! Hi. I was just headin’ out. You need something?"

"I was hoping you might have those reports done," Prowl said calmly, "but since you clearly do not…"

"Nope. I don’t. Sorry to waste your time." Jazz stopped in front of Prowl, frowning when he didn’t move out of the way. "You did hear me say I was leavin’, right?"

"I did," Prowl acknowledged, then stepped aside. He fell into step beside Jazz rather than leaving. "Were you aware that Cliffjumper and Smokescreen got into an altercation earlier today?"

"Wasn’t." That was surprising. Not that Cliffjumper had been involved in a fight, but that the other mech involved had been Smokescreen. He usually had better sense than that. "What happened?"

"Cliffjumper felt the odds of a recent bet he’d lost were unfair and that Smokescreen should wipe his debt from the books." Prowl’s doorwings twitched reflexively. "Smokescreen refused. Things escalated from there."

"So who’s in the brig? Cliff or Smokey?" If he didn’t know Prowl would disapprove, Jazz would say his money was on Ironhide having his inventory helper and Smokescreen making an unplanned visit to Ratchet. "I hope you’re not expectin’ anything from me," he said as they rounded a corner and came across Skyfire chatting with Perceptor. Prowl nodded and Jazz waved a "Hello!", but the two scientists were too absorbed in their discussion to do more than wave back as they moved on. "You know I don’t have a problem with certain recreational activities."

"Don’t worry, their discipline has already been handled. Neither of them will be spending any time in the brig."  _ Unfortunately,  _ said the silent modifier in Prowl’s field as he confirmed Jazz’s guesses. "And I know you have no problem with anyone gambling,” his doors twitched again at the word, “in their free time, despite my best efforts to help you see reason. I simply thought you might be interested to know what had happened."

"You got that part right at least." Jazz turned toward the main hangar, and Prowl continued to follow him. "But fights can happen over anything. You’re not gonna change my mind about gambling bein’ harmless, especially since no one bets anything they can’t afford to lose!"

"Yet," Prowl argued, and Jazz had to stifle a groan. He knew exactly where this was going; Prowl made the same case every time the subject came up! "We aren’t on such strict rationing that wagering energon can reasonably be prohibited for the time being, but what about those who play to trade duties, or to get out of them entirely? When I put together the schedule, I consider—"

"—‘consider who’s best at which jobs, who’s done what how recently, and make adjustments for medical restrictions and personality clashes’," Jazz recited, amused in spite of himself by the look on Prowl’s face. "So you’ve said. Trust me, we’re all aware how much effort you put into creatin’ a balanced roster and how much it kinks your cables to have anyone mess with it."

Prowl didn’t let the attempt to change the subject deter him. "If there must be gambling, then it should be done using an established currency that won’t have an effect on job performance."

"Prowl," Jazz said, stopping mid-stride to turn and face the mech. "If our currency still had any value, we’d use it. But what’s the use of bettin’ shanix when there’s nothing to spend ‘em on? You might as well play for glass pips."

"You say that like glass pips wouldn’t be a perfectly suitable alternative," Prowl frowned, also coming to a stop. "I suppose there’s a reason they aren’t?"

"They aren’t a suitable alternative because betting isn’t about keeping score like any other game. It’s about risking something, winning and losing. It’s not worth it if the reward doesn’t matter."

"Like the missions you run,” a smile finally broke through Prowl’s serious demeanour, “where you insist that the rewards are worth the risks you take?" 

"Oh, don’t even start with me on that right now," Jazz half-growled, half-laughed. "Just because I don’t show my work before I make a decision doesn’t mean I don’t think things through. Besides, the rewards usually  _ are  _ worth the risks. Even you have to admit that."

"Well, I—" Whatever Prowl had been about to say was preempted by the battle alert going off, calling all active duty mechs to the hangar. The Decepticons were attacking!

"Hold that thought," Jazz grinned, taking off again with Prowl still in tow. "I think I hear a chance to prove my point."

.

.

.

Somehow they wound up in the same quadrant of the battlefield. Again. Jazz took note of Prowl’s position behind a nearby outcropping, then focused his attention on the enemy. It wasn’t smart to have him and Prowl so close together that a single well-placed strike could take them both out in his mind, but he wasn’t the tactician. That was Prowl, and if he’d come over to him, he must have had a reason.

It was something he did a lot though. Maybe he should ask Prowl if he thought he needed babysitting that badly.

Right now he wasn’t going to complain too much about the assist.  _ Anyone  _ would have been welcome right about now, with his position being pinned down by strafing seeker fire and advanced on by ground troops. But he’d defend his actions, if they came into question. Even if he didn’t make it back without taking severe damage, it was worth it for the shot he’d gotten off at Soundwave. The Decepticon third in command would be down for extensive repairs himself now, and Jazz had even managed to bag himself a hostage in the process. Buzzsaw was an unconscious weight at his side, slowing him down but reminding him with every labored step that he hadn’t made a mistake.

Prowl would probably still try to argue he had, but if Buzzsaw knew anything about the Decepticon’s latest plans, or if the symbiote could be traded for a captured Autobot, Jazz knew who would win that argument.

As long as they won this fight first.

"Jazz! On your six, three mechs coming in fast," Prowl’s voice clipped over comms, calm and steady despite the fire he was taking. "Two on the ground, one in the air."

"Got it!" Jazz pinged back, whirling to take on his new opponents. Again he caught sight of Prowl, standing silhouetted by blaster fire with his acid rifle braced against his shoulder. He would have stopped to admire the picture he made, maybe even asked Sunstreaker to paint it, if he’d had the luxury. Then Prowl was out of his peripheral vision and the battle took precedence once more.

Jazz had only taken out one of the grounders when a shriek from above had both him and the remaining grounder ducking to avoid the out-of-control flyer. He formed a nice new crater for himself where he crashed on the battlefield. Shot down by acid.

"Nice work!" Jazz powered up his sound system and levelled a point-blank blast at the last enemy, knocking the mech enough off-balance that he couldn’t dodge the follow up shot. He crumpled, frame smoking where it fell.

"Are you expecting similar congratulations?" Prowl asked as Jazz joined him behind his outcropping a second later. "Come on. We need to reconnect with the main group."

"Lead the way," Jazz said easily, using the short respite to secure Buzzsaw more effectively before setting off again. "Brought you a present."

"So I see."

"Aww, you don’t like it?"

"Jazz!" Prowl threw an arm out, pulling Jazz to the ground with him as he dove for cover. The roar of jet engines raced by overhead, but the seeker’s shots went wild, missing them. "Yes, I like it. But I would appreciate it if right now we could focus on getting back in one piece."

"Sure thing. Only," Jazz admitted sheepishly, "it might be a little late for that."

Prowl looked down at the hastily applied field dressing on his leg and sighed. "Ratchet will be equally pleased to see us both then."

It wasn’t until they got up again, Prowl in the lead, that Jazz saw the damage on his left doorwing.

Ratchet would be pleased indeed.

.

.

.

There hadn’t been many significant injuries, but there had been a lot of minor ones. Prowl’s doorwing was one of the more severe, so Ratchet had taken charge of him and left Jazz to First Aid. The young Protectobot redid the dressing on his leg expertly, reassuring Jazz that nothing critical had been damaged beneath his armor.

"It’ll hurt while it’s healing because it’s a wide surface area and there’s no way to avoid stressing it while you walk, but it’ll be good as new in a few days," he promised. "Just don’t transform until tomorrow at the earliest."

"I’ll stay off my wheels as long as I can," Jazz said, though that wouldn’t be more than a full day, tops. He’d been hurt enough times to know his limits pretty well, if he did say so himself, and one of those limits was an inability to handle not being able to drive!

"I’m putting you on the light duty roster, barring any emergencies." First Aid sealed the last edge of the patch with a final line of solder. "You got really lucky, after almost getting cut off like that."

"No, he got rescued," Prowl said over the junior medic’s shoulder. First Aid looked up at him critically, noting the incomplete repair to his doorwing. "Wheeljack took a sudden turn, so Ratchet is having me wait while he stabilizes him," Prowl explained preemptively. "Why don’t you assist him? I’ll make sure Jazz doesn’t move before the welds finish setting."

"Thanks!" First Aid said happily, his enthusiasm not quite covering the simultaneous sarcastic "Thanks" from Jazz.

"You’re welcome." Prowl quirked a small smile as he sat down beside him. "You do know they’ll only take longer to heal if you don’t let them set properly, don’t you?"

"Of course I do," Jazz replied, watching First Aid step in to assist as Ratchet’s voice began to rise. "Heh. And there he goes with the yelling. Almost makes me think he doesn’t like us getting hurt or something."

"He doesn’t. None of us likes seeing each other get hurt." Prowl’s optics lingered on Jazz’s leg, and Jazz caught himself looking at Prowl’s doorwing before forcing himself to look away. He’d gotten that injury rescuing him… 

Across the room, Ratchet’s vocabulary continued to devolve. Whatever was wrong with Wheeljack, he was still conscious and doing his best to defend himself against the medic’s rant. 

It wasn’t helping.

"When’ll he ever learn it’s no use arguing with Ratchet?" Jazz snickered as they watched the restraints come out. Ratchet wasn’t really going to use them because of Wheeljack’s protests, but the timing was amusing.

"There’s no point in arguing anything medical with Ratchet," Prowl allowed. Together Ratchet and First Aid secured Wheeljack to the berth, preventing him from moving and accidentally causing further damage during the course of his repairs. "But Wheeljack isn’t arguing to win."

"Oh? What’s he arguin’ for then?" 

"He’s arguing," Prowl put his hand down on Jazz’s leg to stop its restless bouncing, "because Ratchet likes to argue."

Jazz stilled his fidgeting. "What, so arguin’ is his way of flirting?"

"They are very different mechs, after all." Prowl’s fingers traced gently along his plating, the touch almost delicate. "But they enjoy each other’s company, so they find ways to spend time together without compromising who they are."

"And one of those ways is arguing?" Jazz stared at Prowl, wondering if he dared to hope. Was he saying what it sounded like he was saying? First Aid hadn’t given him any pain killers and he hadn’t hit his head, so his audials couldn’t be malfunctioning…

"It seems to work for them," Prowl said in their defense. "And they’re not the only mechs I’ve known to employ that particular strategy." The hand on his leg squeezed gently, the corners of Prowl’s mouth settling into a soft smile. "I—"

"Alright, he’s stable for the moment. Prowl, let’s finish patching you up before Wheeljack needs me again."

Jazz jerked at Ratchet’s interruption, hissing slightly in pain from the sharp movement. Prowl’s hand hovered above his leg for a second, then pulled away. "Of course, Ratchet. I was just making sure Jazz was alright." 

"He’s in the medbay surrounded by medics! I’m sure he’s just fine, with or without your supervision."

Jazz watched them walk away, processor spinning while he sat waiting for the welds to set. Ratchet was right. There was no real  _ reason  _ for Prowl to have come over just now. 

So why had he?

.

.

.

The small chapel on the base wasn’t all that popular. The war had been going on too long, too hard, for a lot of mechs to take comfort in it anymore. That was fine though. Right now, taking a moment to reflect on the recent battle and give thanks that no one had died, Jazz didn’t want a crowd around him. 

It wasn’t completely deserted when he arrived, but somehow it neither surprised nor bothered him to see Prowl standing at the altar.

"Didn’t know you came here," he said quietly, walking up to join him.

Prowl finished his silent prayer, then turned slowly to look at him. "I like to come, when I get the chance," he replied, voice equally hushed. "I didn’t know you came either."

"Yeah, well…" Jazz scuffed his foot against the floor as he took in the brace gleaming against the metal of Prowl’s doorwing. "Sometimes I just feel the need to say thanks, you know? There’s so many times we all could have been dead by now. So many times I could have died… or you could have." Maybe it was the incomplete conversation they’d shared in the medbay, maybe it was something about where they were now, but Jazz finally found the courage to say, "I don’t know what I’d do without you, Prowl."

The still air around them swirled as Prowl drew in a sharp vent. "I don’t know what I’d do without you either," he breathed. "There were times I almost asked you how you felt, when I thought you might have felt something for me beyond the camaraderie of warriors. Every time you drew back and I doubted myself, worried that I was intruding where I wasn’t wanted. I never wanted to impose on your life," he said, taking one slow, small, careful step closer. "I just hoped I might become a part of it."

Those words, more than Jazz had even dreamed of hearing, were almost too much. Helplessly he began to giggle. "And all this time I was so sure you could never like a mech like me," he managed to say through his quiet laughter. "But I couldn’t stop admirin’ you. Couldn’t stop wishin’ you’d notice me."

"You," Prowl said with a hint of laughter of his own, "are impossible not to notice."

A moment passed where they stood just looking at each other, sharing smiles and laughter. Then, at last, Jazz managed to compose himself. "All this time you’ve been finding ways to spend time with me and I never even noticed."

"It did leave me wondering whether or not I was the one too different for someone like you to like," Prowl said with a lopsided shrug of his uninjured door. "I’m happy to have been wrong."

"Me too."

He felt a little silly — more than a little silly — to have missed the way Prowl had already become such an integral part of his life without compromising who either of them were. Now that he was aware of it though, he didn’t want to waste any more time. They were standing together in a chapel to Primus, sharing their gratitude to be given another day. 

It was a day Jazz wanted to spend with Prowl.

"So." He took a shuffling step toward Prowl, minimizing the weight on his injured leg. They were close enough to touch now, just inches apart. "You’re awfully smart. Think you can come up with any other ways for us to spend time together?"

Prowl smiled. "Yes," he said, bringing his arms up to pull Jazz the remaining distance toward him. His plating was warm where they touched, and Jazz could feel the shape of the next words against his lips as he brought their faces together. "I believe I can."


End file.
